


across the distance

by sleepinnude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Dancing, M/M, Making Out, The Author Has No Excuse, the unrepentant titanic denny au that absolutely no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: There are at least two worlds aboard the RMS Titanic - Dean belongs to one, Benny belongs to another.
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	across the distance

**Author's Note:**

> this is just one scene, maybe i'll write more [shrug emoji]  
> [naomi](https://bennydeans.tumblr.com/) made the [gifset](https://sweatercas.tumblr.com/post/612425020046819328/bennydeans-the-dean-x-benny-titanic-au-nobody) first!!
> 
> title is from [deep, self-weary sigh] _my heart will go on_ by celine dion

Dean bangs into the kitchen and Benny considers giving him his own entrance if he’s going to insist on sneaking in like this. “Do you know how astronomically boring those dinners are?” Dean asks without preamble, tossing off his fine hat and scarf. He throws them directly onto Benny’s work surface with no regard for what they could be getting on them, or vice versa. All Benny can do is smile and laugh as Dean rants on, something about how he feels like a piece of meat at these dinners, something else about all the mind-numbing dancing, and then something about too much champagne which Dean doesn’t even like.

“So why not just skip it, cher?” Benny asks, arms folded over his counter as he leans toward Dean, tilts his face up to him.

Dean turns back with a thoughtful expression in his eyes, mouth screwed up. But then it melts away to exasperation and he shakes his head. “Not really an option. I’m ‘expected,’ you know. It’s all so predictable. Cocktails and showing off, bragging over caviar, dinner, then dancing, then desert, then smoking and brandy.”

“Sounds like a fine enough time,” Benny replies mildly. He’s not thinking of the fine enough time, though, he’s thinking of Dean done up in his best splendor, in coattails and collar and pocket watch. Thinking of him standing at the top of those stairs in the dining hall. 

His eyes must betray him because when Dean turns to rail some more, his face shifts to something playful. “Well, it’s not.”

Benny just holds his gaze and smiles back, leaning forward a little more. “You wanna see a real party, rich boy?”

“What’s that? Think you can show me a good time?”

*

Dean looks about as lost as Benny does when he’s on A Deck. His lips are parted the slightest bit as he takes in all the chaos. Couples are whirling around on the improvised dance floor, and through the crowd, to the ragtag band playing, several men are shouting in several languages over an arm-wrestling match, beer is in abundance.

Benny reaches for the next fresh pints out of the keg, and hands one over to Dean. “Try that,” he tells his companion, watching him over the rim of his glass.

Dean gives him a wary look but then takes a sip. A puzzled look shades his face but he takes another, longer swallow and lights up. “Definitely better than champagne.”

Benny laughs, full from his stomach, and then shakes his head. “You’re something else, cher.”

Dean full-on preens and then tugs at the basic henley shirt he’s wearing. It’s a bit too big, borrowed from Benny, so the shoulders don’t line up right and the extra fabric bunches across his stomach and over his chest. The opening at the collar gapes and Benny resolutely does not look to the open spill of skin, or watch how the muscles move when Dean drinks more of his beer.

Benny’s attention is stolen away when he feels a little tug at his waist. Turning, he finds Elizabeth there, eyes big and smiling, her best ribbon in her hair. “Who let you into a party like this?” he asks, faking scandalized. There are more than a few children clamoring around underfoot, stealing sips of beer and pretending to play cards beneath the tables. 

Elizabeth just giggles and then points to the dance floor. “Dance with me, Uncle Benny!”

“All right, ma puce, but only one, okay? I got a friend here and he might get into trouble without me.”

“Hey!” Dean, who was pretending not to listen, interjects. There’s red at his cheeks and Benny doesn’t know if it’s a blush or just the fact that he’s finished the beer.

“Be right back, cher,” Benny promises, a light touch to Dean’s hip, and winks. He holds the way Dean’s throat bobs in his mind’s eye for a moment, keeps it there for later.

Elizabeth begs over and over “twirl me, Benny!” as they swing around the wooden slats. She has to be dizzy from all the times he’s spun her around, holding onto one hand high. Her curls are loose and bouncing, best bow drooping a little. Her mother will likely be at her wits end to brush through them the next morning.

“All right, Lizzie,” he says, dropping into a crouch off to the side as the song drowns to a finish. “I’m gonna go dance with him now, all right?” He points to Dean and watches as Dean sees him and straightens up from where he’s been artfully leaning against a support beam. Elizabeth darts forward to press a kiss to Benny’s cheek and he chucks her chin fondly. “You’re still my best girl, though.”

“Always!” Elizabeth calls back, already running off to get into trouble, no doubt.

Benny walks toward Dean with singular purpose, eyes warm and fixed. Dean does that swallow of his again and reaches for an errant glass of beer. He downs what’s left as Benny reaches him and holds the glass in front of his chest. Benny slips the glass out of his fingers and sets it aside, never looking away from Dean’s face.

“Come on, cher,” he all but purrs and he knows this blush has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Come with me.” Dean just nods once and lets Benny pull him into the cleared away area. The band, having received its boisterous “bravo”s in response to the last song, begins the rolling beat of the next song. Benny holds their right hands together and drops his left to Dean’s waist -- no… “Gonna put my hand here,” he murmurs to Dean, letting his fingers slide just the slightest bit lower and then around, resting low on the other man’s back.

“I don’t… I don’t know the steps,” Dean says in an exhale, eyes searching Benny’s.

Benny just grins across at him. “No one does, cher. We’re all just going with the music.” The bagpipes start up then and Benny pushes them into motion. Dean is resistant for a split second, not expecting it, and their hips knock together. Benny feels a flash of heat drain through him but it’s something to save for later. They bob and bounce and turn through the crowd of merry dancers, knocking elbows and tripping over themselves and each other.

At first, Dean has his eyes down, desperately trying to do a dance, learn some steps, fit this into what he’s been taught in the ballrooms of high society. But then more couples start dancing and wilder, and he and Benny are ticked closer together and then Dean is only looking at him. Their eyes match as they jolt around the room, legs brushing and chests pressed. Dean is red-cheeked and bright-eyed and he smells like beer and cigarette smoke and teakwood. Benny can’t stop looking at him, can’t stop smiling. They ricochet off other dancers, off the wood of the deck and he doesn’t care. Neither does Dean, neither does anyone else.

*

Later, much later, They’ve claimed a dark, hidden-away corner as their own. They were sitting at one of the sparse tables nearby at first, trading a single glass of beer and making up stories about the other party-goers. That was a few hours ago, though. Now, Benny has Dean’s back pressed into the uneven wood of the wall, their hips locked and one of his thighs between Dean’s legs.

If he thought Dean’s smell was something, it’s nothing compared to the taste of him. Benny has been studiously mouthing along Dean’s neck for some time now, reducing the other man to a series of whimpers and rasped “please”s. One broad hand is splayed wide over Dean’s back, up under the borrowed shirt, keeping them pressed together.

“You look good in my world, cher,” Benny growls into the tender flesh just before Dean’s ear. Dean gives a strangled gasp at that and Benny pulls back, to let him breath. He rests his forehead against the bridge of Dean’s nose and blinks slow.

“Could belong here,” Dean says, voice still ragged, pupils blown wide.

“Don’t go getting ideas. Dreams’re only good for getting dashed, sweetheart.” Benny lifts his head to plant a kiss at the swell of Dean’s cheek, a balm for the harsh reality.

“You’re the one invited me here,” Dean protests. He tips his chin and presses a searing kiss into Benny’s mouth, licking into it. “Said yourself, I look good here.”

Benny can’t argue with that because Dean’s right. It was stupid, so stupid, to bring this rich kid to play around at slumming it. All it’s going to do, in the end, is break Benny’s heart. And, maybe, if the way Dean is looking at him means anything, break the kid’s too.

“Anyone ever tell you you talk too much, cher?” Benny asks. Before Dean can come back with some smartmouth comment that Benny knows he has on deck, he bites firmly into the meat of Dean’s bottom lip. The whine that Dean lets out goes straight to Benny’s cock and he rolls his hips deep into Dean’s. Dean’s hands scrabble over Benny’s shoulders and then down to fist at the front of his shirt. 

Benny spirals his way across Dean’s jawline, down his neck. He lands in one of the hollows at the base of Dean’s neck, licking and sucking there. And if they’re being stupid for the night, then Hell, Benny’s going to be real stupid. “Where you wanna go, cher? Just tell me. I’ll take you anywhere.”

Dean huffs a laugh. One of his hands falls to Benny’s hip and tugs him in so he can feel the hot, hard line of Dean against him. “Why not to the stars, huh?”

Benny grins into Dean’s reddening skin and gives the mark a solid bite for good measure. “We can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can direct all hate mail to my [tumblr ](https://sweatercas.tumblr.com/)


End file.
